Many Times, Many Ways
by Laota
Summary: It's a Malfoy Family Christmas! See how the other half lives if you can stand the swearing! Do you love Evil andor Monty Python? Then this fic is for you!


_"One has to requite good and ill: but why to precisely the person who did us good or ill?"- Friedrich Nietzsche_

**Many Times, Many Ways**

_by Laota French_

Act I:

_"Norman Rockwell Meets Norman Bates"_

December the 22nd was a cold and somber evening in Wiltshire. There one might find Malfoy Manor, the foreboding, ivy-laden hall, set hilltop in the grasslands of southern Marlborough- well, one _might_ be able to find it, if it weren't unplottable. 

The Manor was decked with holly wreaths and pine garland, set against the ebony wood and grean marble of the walls. Lucius, current head of the Malfoy household, found himself visited by Damian- a well-meaning and unwelcome relative. He was a bright-eyed, though sickly sallow, youth, and Lucius's nephew. (Nephew once removed, which he was never let to forget.) Once again, Damian made the mistake of inviting his sour relations to celebrate the holidays. They argued in the dark front room, on their way to the vestibule. 

"Don't be cross with me, Uncle," Damian pleaded. "Come, have dinner with us tomorrow." 

"_I have no intention_," Lucius growled, reining in his anger the best he could manage. "You realize I've more important things to see to this week alone, and I couldn't imagine wasting what little time I have to myself, squatting in that dank hole you call a country house." 

"But why?" Damian asked desperately. 

"Why?" Lucius quietly asked back. "One might ask why the son of a baron would marry beneath his station." 

"Myrna is _not_ beneath me, and I married her because I fell in love." 

"Because you 'fell in love'?" Lucius repined, as it were the most wicked thing he'd ever heard. "I can't believe how your step-father managed to sugar the dignity out of you. But, he'll likely die from your mother in a few years, and hopefully, she'll have you written out before then. You'd better hurry out to the carriage, before my _actual family_ arrives." 

"Why is it so important that I'm once removed?"

Lucius grinned boyishly. "Well, if it could be done once, it could surely be done again..." He ushered his nephew to the outer door and Damian stopped to wish the excitable maid a Merry Christmas. 

"Oi, **quit**," Narcissa groaned with disgust, as she descended the main staircase in a black velvet dress and robes that swept over the steps behind her. "Just as bad as Cadmus, always _fraternizing,_ right where we can see it..." Damian blew his aunt a kiss and went down the front steps to the snow covered yard without an angry word. Narcissa came off the last step and began fussing with her earings, peering into a nearby mirror with definite approval, as it whispered complements in a soft, patronizing voice. "Those leaches keep us waiting every year," Narcissa went on, "just to rip us to shreds as soon as they arrive. If you'd listened to me and just let your brother have the manor, we wouldn't have to deal with all of this holiday bullocks." 

"If I hadn't taken the manor, Ormand would have it circling the drain by now, and 'Once Removed' after him. Or worse," Lucius shuddered slightly, "**Nereus**. Reynard knows this, he must, or else he never would have let me take it." 

"And now he can go friskin' 'round the hemisphere, making a perfect jackass of himself. Then he has the stones to show his withered, old face here at Christmas. He makes everyone so nervous. I swear, he does it to kill me, or make me break out into hives. He never liked me." Lucius tried not to laugh. "And where's that boy of yours? You'd better hope he stays put this Christmas. Last year, you let him miss the Imbolic Cotillion, and if he runs out on another holiday, I'll have Auggie send you to that magi's conference in Persia for the summer." 

"Well, you may not believe this, _dearest_, but despite my advice, the boy has a mind of his own- so to speak. He's your darling, why can't you keep tabs on him?" 

"You're his father, take an interest once a year." 

"So, you can't fashion him into a _complete_ milksop without a father to finish the job?" 

She turned away from the glass and glared at him. "Lord, would it kill you to behave yourself for one night?" 

"Possibly." 

"Oh, _wah_, don't un-hinge your jaw at me." She turned back to her reflection and Lucius pursed his lips sullenly, trying self-consciously to move his jaw back. 

"I don't see why we always wind up disscussing _the boy_." 

"_'The boy'_. You say it as though we were discussing furniture." 

"Oh, no, you forget. Furniture is an investment." 

"You're completely jealous." 

"It's true!" Lucius admitted with sarcastic lament. "_I_ wanted to be an imbecile!" 

"Your fault he's turned out the way he has, your whole family is crackers-." 

"And the House of Black is a paragon of mental health. How many of them are in Azkaban now?" 

"Only the ones that didn't run from the Order with their tails between their legs," she said pointedly. 

"And I suppose you'd be doing just as well with me in prision?" 

"As a matter of fact." 

"If it wasn't for me, there'd be no one to pull you from that sodding mirror and precious Draco would be the jelly-bean man's son." 

"He was a salesman, Lucius, he was trying to sell me candy! Honestly, seven months pregnant, and you thought everyone was coming on to me." 

"The way he looked at you in the Alley, mark me, he wasn't thinking commission..." 

"Well, you never get that worked up about me anymore. You wouldn't care if I was wisked away by the icecream man." 

Lucius started to scoff, then narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "What do you mean, 'icecream man'?" 

"_Anyway_, all I know is, Draco doesn't get into trouble when **I'm** with him." 

"No, we're going to talk about this- what 'icecream man'?" As Narcissa turned back to set her husband straight, she saw a particular look on his face and, along with the maid, she fell still and silent. Lucius let his eyes dart in the general direction of the reception room at his wife's left side. They listened breathlessly for a moment, and sure enough, heard the floorboards squeak. Lucius crept into the dark doorway and backed out again, bringing his son out with him by the shoulder. 

"_Son_," he started, in a soft, sarcastic sigh. Draco chuckled sheepishly, flashing his parents a nervous smile. Aside from his usual clothes, he was clad in gloves, a driver's cap, and a heavy, wool duster. "Where are you going?" Lucius continued, digusted with his son's contemporary ensemble. 

"Going?" Draco gasped innocently. "No place." 

"You can visit with your idiot friends at school." 

"And take off that bloody cap," Narcissa added, checking her make-up in the glass. "You look like a dirty little newsie- like I'd let you out of here alive today. This is how you ruined everything when you went off last year, pet. Your father and I were worried sick..." Draco looked to his mother with shock and curiosity. 

"You were _both_ worried?" he asked in a small, disbelieving voice. Without taking her eyes from the glass, Narcissa mumbled something coddling, although inaudible, and polished a bit of lipstick off her teeth. She turned to Lucius, smiling weakly, and he stared up at her with concern. 

"What?" she asked fearfully, raising her hands to her ears. "Is it...the earrings?" 

"Oh, no," Lucius assurred. "It's just that...with your hair parted at the center...your face looks a bit..._round_." 

"Not _fat_?" 

"No, no, of course not...elliptical, at most..." Narcissa's eyes widened. She turned on her heel and raced back up the stairs to the secondfloor powder room, whimpering slightly. When the sound of her jingling jewelry faded, Lucius turned back to Draco, satisfyed with himself, but getting back to business. He slipped into his deceptively good natured tone. "I'm charging you with minding your cousin Nereus at the Christmas party." 

Draco gaped at his father in protest. "Me?" he whined, pulling his gloves off and pocketing them. "Why do I have to do everything?" Lucius rolled his eyes. "Why can't you or Mum do it?" 

"It's best not to burden your mother just now-." Lucius let a smirk slip. "This is a stressful time of year for her. And as for myself, I'll have my hands full, dealing with your aunts and uncles, not to mention grandparents. I only need you to keep Nereus from letting his wasps loose, or telling our life stories to the domestics. Handle this well enough, and we'll talk about the Quidditch Cup next year." 

"But, you already promised me." 

"Promised, did I?" 

"...Well, **basically**. It was definately implied; subtext! And Nereus- that retarded, eight year old Squib. He doesn't listen to anyone, what do you expect _me_ to do with him?" 

"Have him help you with your Herbology homework." Draco shot him a cross look. "And don't forget to stay awhile with your grandparents. You've gone down in their estimations since you started at Hogwarts." 

"That wasn't _my_ fault!" 

"I know," Lucius grumbled. "The teachers hate you, _nyah_; Harry Potter, _nyah-nyah_. It's no excuse, but I must admit, I understand it now. **Completely**. That boy is the devil." 

"Yeah, well...I don't mean to sound like a little sod, but I told you so." 

"Oh, no, you never _mean_ to... Do you at least remember what you're going to say to Reynard?" 

"Yes." 

"_Well_...?" 

Draco cleared his throat a bit and began, diving into one of his cheerful characters: "Merry Christmas, Granddad, it's good to see you again. How was Kiev?" 

"Brilliant," Lucius prompted listlessly, "or some such thing. And how are you fitting in at school this year?" 

"Oh, awfully well," Draco answered, faking sincerity. "They're thinking of making me team captain next term, but I'm so into my schoolwork, I'll probably have to disappoint them again." 

"Schoolwork, indeed," Lucius hissed, breaking character. "I hear that guttersnipe Granger is still beating you at every exam." 

"Well, who's apple are we polishing now?" Draco muttered to himself frowardly. Affronted, Lucius threw a furious scowl at Draco, looking enough like he was about to explode to frighten the maid, only to see his son grinning at the window contentedly, watching the first of the "actual family" arrive at the door. Lucius curbed his anger and straightened up. 

"So quick with cheer?" he whispered through a smile. "Vous savez que je vous rendrai désolés de cela plus tard, mon enfant affreux?" 

"Je suppose que nous verrons," Draco added, somewhat nervous at his father's threat, but fairly composed. Lucius patted his son's head, pulled his cap off, and threw it to the maid. 

"Do you know what they used to do with spoiled children?" 

"They did **not either** thrown them in lava pits." 

"Well, they did in _my_ day. I suppose people are far too light-handed for that now." 

"And you can't use the Killing Curse on me," Draco gloated, "or you'll get whammied like the Dark Lord, so raspberries." 

"Oh, it'd be worth putting a big, ugly scar on you forehead," said Lucius bitterly. 

"...And then you'll be a wraith, and I'll get all your money..." 

Some of the first family the maid let in was Lucius' sister-in-law, Vienna, a lovely, middle-aged blonde, who was drunk on arrival and without her latest husband- Damian's father, the Baron Cadmus. Vienna headed for the lavatories to be sick, as was expected each year. Next let in was Lucius' Grandmother, Megaera, and his brother, Ormand. Megaera was a tall, misanthropic octogenarian, decked out in an ermine cloak. Her luggage and packages were brought in by a stout, grumbling house elf while Lucius re-introduced her to Draco. 

"You remember our son," Lucius began. 

"Not really," Megaera admitted, in a raspy voice. "It's been nine years since you've invited me for the holidays, boy. I suppose you'd rather forget your old grams." Lucius tried to protest as Draco stepped up to Megaera. 

"Merry Christmas, Nana Meg," Draco said, still smiling. "I'm Draco, remember? I was almost five when I saw you last." 

"Ah, yes," she laughed. "I remember you now. Draco. You were such an adorable child... My, how you changed." His smile faded. She handed him one of the large, over-wrapped holiday gifts from her elf, which Draco accepted, watching her make her way into the reception room. He handed the gift to his father as soon as Megaera was out of earshot. 

"A punch bowl?" Lucius said quietly, judging the weight and mass. "She really did forget we had you." 

"Fifty Galleons," Draco whispered flatly. 

"Thirty-nine." 

"Thirty-nine? Dad, that's- that's cost!" 

"You're being unreasonable again." 

"Am not; it could be crystal!" 

"Thirty-nine; take it or don't." Lucius snickered at Draco's vanquished expression. "It's a wicked world, son. The sooner you except that, the better off you'll be." Draco tried to score some sympathy by working himself into a sad, childlike expression that Lucius met with contempt. "_Dear lord_," Lucius gasped, looking away, "must you always make that wretched face at me?" 

"It's my innocent face," said Draco, matter-of-factly. "I'm so little and cute. See?" He made the face more prevelent, turning out his lower lip a bit. "Je vous _aime_, Papa." 

"Jamais dans la maison, peu un. I swear, it's got to be school that's done this to you. I feel you're in need of reeducation... Lesson the first: Mercy is like unto a slow death. Would you have pity be the only thing I've left you as a leagacy?" 

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to throw some in. You know, just a splash on top of everything else." 

"I think you're finished now." He passed his son a purse of coins and went looking for a place to put his new punch bowl. Draco lingered by the doorway, shaking the closed purse in his hands and letting his eyes wander thoughfully. 

"Thirty-six, thirty-seven...and twenty-two sickles... Why do I feel...is that a rune or a raisin?" He had begun rummaging curiously through the purse when his lanky, blitheful Uncle Ormand snuck up behind him from the vestibule, tickling his sides and sending him into an angry, little spasm, causing him to spill the coins. "What the **bloody hell** do you think you're doing?" he yelped, and started collecting the money from the floor. 

"Saw your face," Ormand chortled, leaning against the door frame. "Like a wet weekend. Figured a laugh would do you good, and if I'd known you were gonna throw a fit, I wouldn't have bothered." 

"I'm not throwing a fit," Draco said bitterly, pocketing the galleons and rising up. "I just don't like to be touched." 

Ormand snorted in his disapproval. "Don't be so fancy all the time, Drake, you've got too much of your daddy in you as it is." 

"What do you pretend to know about _me_?" 

"Oh, please! I've only known you since you were baby. Plus, I know about Lucius, an' that seems to be the next best thing these days, seein' as how you've got the act down cold. Only you don't hide behind big, frilly words to keep yourself from smackin' everyone. Guess you don't have as much venom to spend." Draco arched a brow. "Oh, he _is_ a deadly one, make no mistake. Doesn't give a rat's ass what happens to us, either." 

"You, maybe," Draco grumbled, averting his eyes. 

"_Bullocks_, and you know it." 

"You're **wrong**. Take it like a man." 

"Fine," Ormand remarked with a shrug. "Believe what you want. Mum always said I wasn't for listenin' to, anyways. I'm gonna see about some spirits..." He pulled a bag of Every Flavor Beans from his pocket, tossed it to his now livid nefew, and crept away. Draco tried to swallow back the lump forming in his throat and breathed deeply, stock still for a moment. Clutching the bag, he stared downward at nothing in particular and sniffed, eyes burning... He bit his lip and then broke off into quiet sobbing. His face sank into a devistated expession, but then,..slowly, twisted into something fierce and cold... The family sneer. With a bit of a growl, he threw the beans forcefully into the umbrella stand and turned to see the maid watching him; she seemed startled, but still sympathetic. 

"What are you staring at?" he shouted, a small measure of pain breaking his voice. She looked away abjectly, gathering the coats. "Oh, now I'm not entertaining enough for you? Very convieniant-." Draco stopped when he felt his some one take him by the shoulders. Having seemed to appear from nowhere, Lucius pulled him back close and whispered in his ear. 

"Is anything wrong, son?" Draco closed his eyes, took a breath, and shook his head slightly. The maid sped out quietly. "You look tired. Why don't you go upstairs; we'll send for you when dinner's ready." 

"I'm alright," he insisted quietly. Lucius gripped his shoulder's tighter. 

"_Why don't you go upstairs...we'll send for you when dinner's ready_." 

"_Fine_." 

"Good lad." Lucius lead him to the staircase, prompting him upward. Draco wearily ascended to the next landing and turned back. Lucius returned to his guests in the reception room. "Fatigue tends to agitate him; he's a bit sensitive." 

"A bit?" Megaera groused. "Seems rather high-strung for a boy his age." Lucius turned to shut the double doors and caught site of Draco, who started up the stairs again, rather than meet his father's eye. 

Reaching the second floor, Draco turned down the corridor to the left, passed two doors and found the third, the one that led to his room, left opened. Thinking nothing of it, he entered in, remembering that old, alienating feeling of a first night back from school in that crypt-silent, gas-lit bedchamber of green marble and cherrywood molding. The Slytherin boys' dormitory certainly wasn't the warmest of all places to call home, but having a place to himself again took some getting used to. He vaguely noticed the four-poster bed stripped to the embroidered mattress and assumed it was being made by one of the servants. Miserable and having spent his anger, he groaned and let himself fall back on the mattress. 

"What have I told you about getting on the bed while I'm making it?" said a polished voice. Draco looked up to see an old friend of his standing in the doorway. It was Laddie, an attendant the Malfoys hadn't seen since he went to take care of his sister three years before. He was a tall, well-mannered Londoner, with gold framed spectacles and gentle face. He brought a stack of folded black bedclothes to a nearby chair. 

"Laddie!" Draco called out, his face lighting up. He climbed off the bed and ran up to him, but stopped dead two feet away, somewhat aloof. "I can't believe you were here and didn't say anything," he went on coolly. "Where have you been hiding yourself?" 

"Well, I haven't been back for all that long," said Laddie, who seemed a bit slighted to hear the boy sport his father's undemonstrative tone. He continued making the bed as Draco watched sedately. "Sibly is getting married." 

"Then she's well again. It's a good thing you came when you did. Reynard isn't even here yet, and everyone's already gone mental." 

"You shouldn't speak that way about your family," Laddie admonished, suppressing a smile as he put the fitted sheet down. 

"So sorry," Draco said, returning him a stifled smirk. He took off his coat and threw it over a gilded chest at the foot of the bed. "You haven't said that I've grown yet," he added, alluding to his height with a special, craning posture. 

"Yes, you've grown quite tall," Laddie noted, as he put the pillows down. "You'll be doing keep-aways with my keys in no time." He turned to get the top sheet and Draco pulled out of his boots and climbed back onto the bed quietly. When Laddie turned back to throw the sheet over the bed, he realized this a second late, as the sheet settled over a fairly slight form in the middle of the bed where Draco had been curled up like a cat. "I'm _not_ making another bed over you." 

"You can't see it," Draco's muffled voice started, "but I'm very disappointed under here." 

"Fine." 

"Pouting, even. _Utterly morose_-." 

"_Alright_, you get your way." 

"That's what I like to hear..." Laddie continued to make the bed, folding out the blankets and comforter. Draco scooted to the head of the bed, settling among the pillows. Peering out from the blankets, he watched Laddie make hospital corners. "So you're staying, then?" 

"For the time being." 

"You know, I have to sit for my stupid, little cousin at the party." Laddie shot him a dissaproving look, which Draco took with equal indignation. "What? He **is** stupid! And I'm stuck with him-. Do you know what he does?" 

"Thankfully not." 

"He _sings_. All the time, really happy-like!" 

"And I suppose that annoys you?" 

Draco drew a breath and sang cheerfully: "_'Good morning, good morning, sing all the little, baby birdies! EVERYBODY-SUPER-HAPPY, little birdies sing! OH, HAPPY, HAPPY-'_" 

"Alright, you've convinced me, it's annoying!" 

"Damn striaght it is, and I have to deal with that little ponce every year." 

"What did you say to me?" Laddie asked, sounding incensed. 

Draco looked up at him cherubically. "Don't hit." 

"I'm not going to hit you, but I've forgotten, you have this disturbing habit of using the most apalling sort of language-." 

"Yeah, 'habit.' I don't mean to, honest." 

"And we all know your word is your bond..." He finished making the bed and sat down at Draco's right. "Are you feeling better?" 

"Loads," Draco yawned, beeming back at him sleepily. 

"Then I'm especially glad." He turned to leave; Draco held him back by his sleeve. 

"So, you're staying?" Draco asked, trying for a steady, uninterested tone. His eyes betrayed him viciously. 

"_Yes,_" Laddie answered kindly, "I'm staying." 

"Okay..." Laddie went to leave again, only to find Draco was still clutching his sleeve. "Uh, goodnight, then." 

"Goodnight." 

"Happy Solstice." 

"Is there something you'd like to say to me?" Laddie asked, tiring. 

"Say? ...Nothing. What would I say?" 

"Fortunately, I have no idea. Are you going to let me go?" 

"Can't you just stay 'til I fall asleep?" 

"No, we tried that when you were little; every time you fell asleep and I tried to leave, you'd wake up and call me back." 

"Yeah, let's do that one!" 

"Sorry, boy, I have a great lot to do before I sleep, and you know I'm a lot older than I used to be." 

"Well so am I, but you don't hear me bitching about it." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Don't hit!" 

"Goodnight," Laddie repeated, giving Draco back his hand and walking to the door. He moved to turn off the lamp on the wall. 

"Leave a bit," Draco asked. Laddie turned the light down to a small, blue flame. He left, shutting the door after him. Draco sat for a minute, some melody playing out in his head. "..._Everybody super happy, little birdies-_. Bloody hell!" 

Act II:

_"One Is Silver, The Other Is Old"_

That night, Draco dreamt he was sneaking through the recieption room at night, headed for the front door, when he heard a muffled, familiar sounding voice coming from the ground. He pulled the throw rug away and opened the trapdoor that lead to his family's secret chamber,- it let out a chilling wind on Draco's face. There was an eeire blue light bathing the room, which was also no longer empty, as it had been after the raids. The shelves were stocked with musty old playthings, which were overrun by hungry rats. Draco followed the muffled noise to the back of the chamber, where a white, bob-tailed cat played with a snitch on beat-up old dining table. It's mouth was sewn shut, and upon seeing Draco, it seemed to start imporing him. Draco tugged at the cat's stitches, and as he did, threads began snapping up from his wrists and unwravling, until his hands fell off. He tried to say something- anything- but his voice was gone. He heard a cold, high-pitched laugh behind him as something grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. The wind was at his back now, and stronger, as he turned, and he was someplace else- someplace darker. Before he could make out where he was, he awoke with a small gasp. _"That was stupid,"_ he thought, and went to get dressed. 

So it was the next morning, despite the abundance of family at breakfast, the room wasn't any less empty or quiet. If possible, the air went from flat to stale. Everyone that wasn't hung over was thoroughly annoyed with those who were, and _no one _ was in a good mood. Megaera took Lucius' place at the head of the table, and he in turn sat at the other end, Narcissa at his left and Draco at his right. Narcissa's nerves were raw, which was apparent in the way she wrung her napkin in her hands and jumped at the slightest noise. Lucius was leaning away from his plate lethargically, seeing nothing but a morbid, swirling abyss in his coffee. He turned to his son, who, for some reason, was stirring his eggs with a spoon in long, languid turns. He stared into them contemptuously. 

"You don't like your eggs?" Lucius asked. Draco didn't acknowledge him. "Their chicken eggs. I thought you liked them. I see you eating them all the time... Or was that your mother? Some one was eating chicken eggs, and it wasn't me. But you'd better eat something, seeing as you slept through dinner last night." Draco put his spoon down and pushed his plate away. 

"May I be excused?" he asked curtly. 

"Why not," Lucius murmured, "everyone seems to be _full and tired,_ and you never had much of a stomach. But I wouldn't go far, were I you. I've given Laddie orders to keep you away from the windows upstairs, and Fulla to keep you away from the doors. Wouldn't want you running off again." 

"Fulla?" 

"The downstairs maid," Lucius chuckled effeminantly, obviously finding his son's disinterest in the servants both endearing and nostalgic. "You know that, as far as your mother is concerned, you're good as gold. But let her down, and _I'm_ all you'll have left." 

The rest of the day was similar to the one before it. A few guests arrived and Lucius continued to mess his wife around about her looks, sending her off into mad fits of self-consciousness. Their son had once again become agitated with Ormand's instigating and Lucius suggested they both spend the day "relaxing" in their rooms. Draco, who didn't have a choice in the matter, bullied Laddie into playing several games of draughts, after which, Laddie insisted on returning to his work. For a while, Draco distracted himself by hanging out his window and throwing apples at the house elves, who were clearing snow from the front walk and had no idea what was happening, but eventually, he brained their grounds keeper, who threatened to to tell his father, and he reluctantly quit. 

After insulting his eagle owl and writing hateful messages to the house elves on his laundry for twenty minutes, Draco realized he hadn't anything else in his room to do, and so he pulled a black, ribbed sweater over his red Oxford shirt and wandered through the hallways. He noticed one of the guest bedrooms was unlocked, made certain he wasn't being watched, and slipped in. It was all too quiet to him and there were baubles on the desk. Some orbs, a few talismans, and a Doll's Eye crystal. He went and rummaged through the drawers, looking for anything better, and found a large silver dagger. It's massive hand guard pointed toward the hilt like fangs. He took it out, letting something behind it fall forward. It was very curious, since he'd never seen a revolver that close up. 

He put the dagger on the desk top and was reaching in for the gun, when one of the servants hurried in with luggage, ushering Lucius and another guest in. Draco shut the drawer and stood up quick, holding his breath and waiting for whatever he had coming. Lucius flinched at the sight of him as Reynard came in, stopping a sentence midway. The ancient Reynard was tall and fair, like the rest of the family, and was dressed much like a mourner. He carried a cane that was near taller than Draco and had a silver knob at the top, shaped like a fist. Like Draco, he had a lighter quality to his manner than Lucius, but unlike his decendants, Reynard's aging wimsey wore a maniacal, almost sinister bend. (Narcissa once referred to him as Draco's "Grampire.") 

"What exactly are you keeping in my room?" Reynard asked, turning to his son. 

"Forgive me," Lucius answered quickly. "He's usually allowed to play in the guest rooms, I'm sure he didn't know this was yours." Draco was infuriated at his father's choice of words. 

"Of course I didn't," Draco said, holding back a vindictive tone. "If I'd known you were here, granddad, I would've come to see you." 

"Then I suppose I'm a lucky man," Reynard noted, "for having such a loving grandson." Draco froze for a moment, habitually waiting for the punch-line, but when it didn't come, he found himself distracted. 

"Wait," he started. "If you're already moved in, then who's luggage did the servant just bring in?" 

"They're some extra things your Nana Cora needed." Draco rolled his eyes, turning his back on Reynard, who returned to his previous conversation with Lucius. 

"Gran's dead," Draco mumbled fractiously, at a volume he mistakenly assumed his granddad couldn't hear. "Cora's just some sorry bint you plucked from the gutter and expected us to call Nana once a year." Picking up on most of his grandson's diatribe, the now embittered Reyard pulled his cane back like a bat, certainly about to strike Draco. Lucky for him, Lucius also heard and could reach the end of the cane from behind them. He pulled it gingerly from his father's grasp. 

"I can put that up for you," Lucius offered graciously. 

"Are you just going to _let_ him speak to me like that?" asked Reynard. Draco winced, wishing he knew how to keep his mouth shut. 

"He's still very touched by Mother's passing," Lucius replied gravely. "Grim acceptance is difficult at that age, if you recall. Given time, he'll come to love Cora as we all do." 

"Yes, well. I suppose I remember. Vaguely." He looked to Draco, who was turning slowly with a diffident grimace. "Don't be timid," Reynard said, an acknowledging smile crossing his face. "That's for the faint of heart." 

"Sorry about what I said," Draco apologized, convincingly enough. "It isn't as if I _hate_ Cora, or anything." 

"I'm sure you don't. Tout est oublié maintenant." He held his arms open, beckoning his petrified grandson into hug. Draco, who'd hardly recognized the meaning of such a gesture, glanced wide-eyed and quizzically at Lucius, who exchanged him an authoritative glance before staring off in resentment of his father's eccentric display, folding his arms irritably over the fisted cane. Draco trepidly moved forward and awkwardly received Reynard's affection. 

"It's getting close to dinner," Lucius uttered sullenly, dropping the cane in the umbrella stand, "and seeing as how it _is_ in your honor, Father, I'm certain we should leave you to get ready." 

"Oh, don't be such a malcontent," Reynard entreated, "I swear, you've made it a point to be chronically dissatisfied with me since you were a child, always sending an ugly face my way." He turned to his smirking grandson. "He was rather homely, you see. Not something you want to mix with a bad attitude. You know, you're a great deal better off then Lucius was at your age. Nothing but chin, that boy. And a frown that could stop a Shiva Dragon..." 

"Perhaps I wasn't the prettiest of students," Lucius said, "I was a bit too preoccupied with my studies to fuss about my appearance." 

"Didn't matter how nasty a lad you were," Reynard interrupted, "looks aren't everything. But you can't use schoolwork as an excuse." 

"I was practically at the top of my class-." 

"Oh, bosh. Almost doesn't make you a winner, son, it makes you _almost_. As I recall, your test scores were nothing beside that little, grease pot first year's. What was his name- Snape?" Draco busted up laughing, and found it near impossible to stop, until he caught his father's expression, at which point he cleared his throat and tried to straighten up. 

"I think it's time we left," Lucius insisted. Draco followed Lucius to the door, then turned back to Reynard. 

"Agréable de vous voir de nouveau, Pépé!" he added happily. "Comment était votre voyage à Kiev?" 

"_Not now,_" Lucius whispered, as he pulled his son into the hallway. Once there, he hauled Draco into the master bedroom by his ear and shut the door behind them, letting go of him only then. "Rooting through Reynard's property... Smarting off right in front of him! What did you think you were doing? Do you want to be written out? God, I should've let him cane you." 

"He tried to _cane_ me?" Draco asked, sounding shocked. 

"You know you're a slimy, little git, you can't act surprised when people try to hit you." 

"I may be a git," he drawled, "but unlike some _others_, I'm a terribly good-looking one." 

"Let Reynard use you," Lucius whispered, towering over his son. "Let him try to fill your head lies and whatever else he thinks will turn you against me. As long as you're in the will, I couldn't care less. But don't delude yourself from the truth, Draco. You're nothing more than a twisted joke your mother played on me. A mewling, moronic obscenity... Je devrais vous avoir tués dans votre berceau." Draco looked up at him, terribly hurt. 

"Père? ...Can I still be better looking?" 

"If it'll shut you up. Just mind yourself around your grandparents. As long as the curse keeps it's hold on Nereus, your the only one of us that has a muggle's chance at their estates. They're bound to drop off eventually. Then you can go through their doings as much as you like." 

"But I was right about Cora." 

"Of course you were, but remember yourself. And what I taught you." 

" 'Some people can't be told,' I forgot." 

"So we've learned something, what a nice Christmas. Let it happen again, and I'll have your guts for garters, do I make myself clear?" 

"Oh, crystal," Draco muttered. "You're a bloody saint, is what you are." Lucius smirked. 

"Well, that's just my way... Little dosser. How you ever got into Slytherin is beyond me." 

"I did what you told me- I thought as loud as I could that the Sorting Hat was a 'scat queen' so it'd know I was a Malfoy." 

"_Oh, yes_," Lucius said to himself whistfully, "I remember now." 

"So what's a scat queen?" 

"Well, when someone-." Lucius had to stop himself as he looked down at his son's stylemark puerile expression. Nervously wide-eyed and credulous. "It's complicated," he drawled, giving a dismissive smile, "never you mind. Daddy's told you something he oughtn't again. And what do we do when we know something we oughtn't?" 

"Don't tell anyone?" 

"Exactly. Come now, we have to meet the others at the door. 

"We? Can't you just-." Lucius cut him off with a fierce glare. "...Right." 

"Hm? Didn't catch that." 

"Whatever you say, _Father_." 

"That's what I like to hear..." The two of them proceeded to the firstfloor and vestibule, just as a few of Lucius' old "schoolmates" arrived. Fulla presented "Corbett and Keira Bathory." 

Corbett Bathory was a dark, rugged fellow, formerly Lucius' best mate. And Keira was small and pale, with dark brown eyes and long, bottle-black hair. She and Corbett always seemed to be coming back from holiday- even during the holidays. Always casual; always enamored with one another. Narcissa came back from the guests to meet them all. 

"Why don't you find a place for us," Corbett whispered to his wife, giving her a gentle squeeze. "I'll wait for Mallory." Keira flashed everyone a brilliant, secretive smile and went on to the reception room. "Lucius!" Corbett sang out, stepping up to them. "And Narcissa," he added zestfully. "I do believe you become more radiant with every passing day." Narcissa seemed overcome by his flattery, being in total agreement. "You're a vision," he said, taking her hand and kissing it, "a goddess. Words cannot do you justice- it would take centuries just to name the color of you're eyes." 

"They're blue," Lucius drawled, "but, please, take you're time." Corbett opened his arms, expecting Narcissa to embrace him, which she very nearly did, until she remembered her husband was present. 

"I'll just check on Keira," she said, making away. 

"What," Corbett called after her, "don't you have a squadge for Cory?" He shrugged and tossed his cloak to Lucius, perplexing Fulla. "Do something with that, mate." He turned and headed back toward the door, putting an arm around Draco and dragging him along, saying something Lucius couldn't make out. He caught them up. 

"Corbett," Lucius began coldly, "so good to see you could make it, all the way from Prague. Especially considering that I forgot to invite you." 

"You have a faulty memory," Corbett noted, his arm around Draco's neck. Draco was looking to his father imploringly. "That's why Reynard invited me. Said he'd like to see me again-. You know, he'd always seemed to have taken a shine to me." Just then, a little, black clad figure came skittering into the vestibule, pulling off a fur-lined Victorian bonnet. It was a very odd looking young girl- skinny and pale, with dark hair and brown eyes like Keira, a wide mouth and a button nose. 

"I got lost in the bonnet, Father," she announced, sounding like a perfect lunatic. 

"This is our little princess, Mallory," Corbett said proudly. Mallory gave them all a demented smile, looking very much like an evil puppet. "Sweetie, darling, This is Mr. Malfoy, and his son, Draco-. Ooh, let me take that coat for you." She gave Corbett her long fur coat, revealing her high-waisted, red velvet gown with short, puffed sleeves. Corbett let go of Draco and threw Mallory's coat to Lucius, who handed it off to Fulla, along with the cloak. "I suppose we'll see you at dinner," Corbett told Lucius, "and if you're not feeling too shy, you can tag along on our trip to 'Randolph's'. They have a few artifacts my collection's been lacking. Come along, sweetie. We're going to find mummy." Mallory took his arm silently and the two of them marched on to the reception room. 

"You see that," Lucius asked Draco, pointing at Mallory. "That's the kind you stay way from." 

"I don't like her," Draco said. 

"Believe me, son, you'd be better off in hell with your back broken." 

"_I said I don't like her!_" 

"Oh, of course not. You like that Parkinson girl." 

"Not really." 

"That wasn't a question, and if you had the vaguest idea of how much she's worth, I don't think you'd be so quick to argue." 

"Am I supposed to see money signs when I look at her?" he scoffed. 

"Whatever gets it done," Lucius sighed. "I'm not particular. As long as you keep away from that Bathory trash, I'll be thrilled. They're a cursed people, and I should know. Don't ask me how." Lucius took a seat on the black leather couch along the vestibule wall. "Did I ever tell you about Corbett and Keira-- no, why would I? But, it's better you know to watch your back around them. That Romany jackanape's no longer content to take everything I wanted, now he wants everything I have." Draco let himself collapse on the couch beside Lucius. 

"Is it very bad that he asked me to call him 'father'?" 

"That depends; is it very bad when your left side goes numb?" Draco settled back into his father's arm like a cushion. 

"I don't want to, but he _is_ a guest. You're not really going to 'Randolph's,' are you?" 

"He did invited me." 

"So what? I mean, you're not a career vampire or anything, you don't have to go wherever you're invited." 

"Son, what have I always told you?" 

"No- you did **not** tell me you were a vampire! But I wouldn't put it past you-." 

"I've told you not to question me; don't presume to know what I'm thinking." 

"You always presume what _I'm_ thinking." 

"That's because it's always written on you're face. You might want to stop that now." Lucius got up quickly, forcing Draco to catch himself before his head smacked the armrest. The two of them went on to meet the rest and, eventually, everyone had a very awkward meal together. 

Act III:

_"Bufflekill"_

After dinner, Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and the Bathorys took separate coaches down a forest pathway. It lead to a clearing, at the center of which stood a large stable. Within the stables, every stall was labled clearly with a corresponding establishment in London. By the time the Malfoy's disembarked and their coach was taken, the Bathorys had long since come through. They entered the stable and found the stall marked for "The Leaky Cauldron," where half a dozen horseshoes were nailed loosely to the walls near a number of empty nails- the shoes were portkeys. The Malfoys each took a hold of one and, a moment later, found themselves on a back road beside the wizards' tavern, facing a wall with an similar assortment of nails and horseshoes. They entered the Leaky Cauldron through a side enternace and, as they crossed over to the back of the tavern, a hush fell over the crowd, although it wasn't long before a great bit of whisperinging broke out, followed by nasty looks aimed at Lucius. He had to push Draco along by the scruff of his neck to the alley's entrance, to keep him from loosing the god-knows-what he was obviously planning, just beneath the surface. There was still a walk through Diagon Alley. 

"I wasn't going to say anything," Draco muttered, tossing up the hood of his black, wolf skin cloak. 

"Dluwr yefalaff tehyen," Narcissa grunted, trying to scrape a clove off her tongue with her fingernail, much to her husband's disgust. 

"I was trying!" Draco contested. 

"Ennah, buh yefeffah tet veh muah yerenah huhowayss." 

"Oh, and I suppose you don't?" Lucius asked bitterly, producing his wand and triggering the archway to form. 

"Luhg, iffyahoinant eyopennaf, Lussess, iensta owoffeh!" 

"Please do." 

"Pehh." She finally spit out the obstruction. "When did I eat cloves?" she asked herself. 

"Very charming, Narcissa." They went on to the alley, getting another helping of resentment. Narcissa found herself overwhelmed by the unwashed masses at Madam Malkin's and the collective child stench of Florean Fortescue's. Lucius was so jaded by their surroundings, he offered Draco his Brandy flask, which his son heartily accepted, always looking forward to a spot of holiday courage. It seemed like an eternity before they reached Knockturn Alley, and a place very close to the partition. "Randolph's" was a large, circular shop in violet tones- a sort of wizard's emporium, with nearly all things non-perishable. Books, artifacts, gifts, a gallery, and numerous other useful items in the inventory. 

As soon as the Malfoys entered, they were assailed by the Bathorys. Corbett wanted to know all about what it was like to have been a Hogwarts governer, and how to be accepted onto the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, promptly ushering Lucius to the antiques tour. Keira then dragged Narcissa off to chat with her friends in the stacks, leaving Draco and Mallory to stew by the shadowy gallery. They went walking along the wall, past purple wallpaper and family portraits. Draco was positive he had something interesting to say, although he seemed to be drawing a blank just then. 

"You like Brandy?" was all he could think of. She made an "ew" face, and they went on silently, until Mallory caught site of a frame, one with a little, silver plate that read "Our Founder." 

"_Look,_" she said, grabbing his arm and stopping him. He looked to his left and saw the giant portrait of a wild-eyed, Romanian man, standing proudly with one foot on a buffalo corpse. "Isn't he lovely?" Mallory asked. _What a thundering looney,_ Draco thought, not really minding to have her hugging his arm. 

"So I see you've found Randolph," said a foppish sounding voice. Draco and Mallory turned to see a tall, brunette man in green robes standing before them, folding his arms thoughtfully as the man in the portrait gave him thumbs up. "They say he's one of the originals to have founded Knockturn Alley. But that's a lot of bunk." 

"What are you supposed to be?" Draco asked him wantonly, letting his hood fall back. "And why do you think you can horn in on our conversation?" 

"Well, aren't you some horrid, little children!" he spat back. 

"Sod off," Draco snorted, side-stepping the man and walking toward the library. Mallory hurried after him, taking his arm again. 

"Ooh, what a mess!" she purred. Draco saw a familiar item on the shelves and brought Mallory to it. 

"I've seen this before," he said, referring to an ugly wooden carving of a baboon, about the size of a person's head, it's toothy jaws opened and a blue light emanated from it's throat. "It's the Keeper of Bounty. If a righteous person puts his hand in the Keeper's mouth, it bestows riches on him, and if a wicked person puts his hand in, it'll bite it off." Mallory smiled. "Dare you to try it." She shook her head. 

"I'm not so good, an' like my fingers very well!" 

"If you're afraid," he said slyly, "you can take my hand." 

"Oh, can I? Monkey, monkey..." They both held their breath and took each other's hands as Mallory slowly reached for the little statue. Slowly, closer,...the blue light making her pale arm electric white, in stark contrast to the red dress and matching polish on her stubby nails. Her fingers grazed the bottom row of teeth. 

"What are you doing?" boomed a voice from behind them. Mallory jumped, shrieking happily. Draco drew a quick breath, feeling as though his heart skipped a beat. 

"Seriously, Dad, don't do that!" he said, as they faced Lucius, who also seemed to be out of breath, having finally managed to loose Corbett. 

"I asked you a question," he said angrily. "What have you two been doing?" 

"Oh, it was fun and good!" Mallory cooed, hugging herself. "We saw a painting, and met a silly man, who said we were horrid. And Draco told him to sod off, and tried to make me put my hand in the monkey's mouth, and I was all set to!" Draco watched as Lucius' face became pinched. 

"Well," Lucius began again, "I believe you're father's looking for you, Miss Bathory." So, Mallory toddled away, without asking where her father was, and left them to their business. "What did I tell you about that little nutter? _You stay away from her, she is the devil,_ do you understand me?" Draco nodded, knowing the procedure for when his father named the devil. Lucius turned to the isles of merchandise and pointed with his cane to a group of Slytherin girls that were dismayingly familiar. "I just saw Pansy Parkinson that way, and I think it only proper if you went over and wished her a Merry Christmas." 

"_But I don't **want** to wish her a Merry Christmas_!" he said through gritted teeth. 

"Who's the father here?" Lucius asked. "Who, you ungrateful, little brat?" 

"**You are,**" Draco conceded. 

"Then do as your told... Go on, now, quick as you please. And if you try to steal anything, or leave the shop, you can bet you'll lose your mother as a protector." Begrudingly, Draco walked past Lucius toward the central shop and, as he expected, Lucius swung his cane out and struck him as he went by. Managing to keep quiet, Draco made his way out of the dark toward the gift isles, knocking back as much Brandy from the flask as he could stand and murmuring to himself. 

"...Think you're so big, I'm not afraid of you..." He reached Pansy near the library, where she and a flock of her friends were gossiping and taking cakes from a confections box. None of them where eating. 

"Well, I hear she sleeps in the boy's dormitory," said one girl. 

"Not _really_?" said another. 

"Really, and you know she's going with that dirty Weasley boy," said the first. "Fenris told Millicent, who told Medea, who told me, that he saw them go for second in front of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team last month!" 

"I _knew_ it" Pansy snickered. "I told you that girl was _nasty_!" Pansy noticed her friends' attentions shift and turned to see Draco behind her, smiling. 

"Hey," he said, giving a stupid, little wave. 

"Draco." She started smoothing out her pigtails. "Um-- Merry Christmas!" 

"_Yes,_ Merry Christmas!" he spoke up with an assertive nod, not being able to look away from the long, loose blonde hairs on her robes. All of the girls were _looking_ at him. Right at him. He could her them breathing through their pug noses. And he was sure one of them was chewing. Remembering something suddenly, Pansy turned back to the confections box and Draco caught site of his mother a few feet away. 

"Oh! Did you see that?" he asked quick. "Mum just waved me over; she needs me; gotta go." He practically sprinted toward the stacks and nearly plowed into Narcissa when he reached her. "Hi," he said, taking her hand fast. "Let's shop or something, it's been ages since we've shopped." The other women smiled to see his enthusiasm toward his mother; she smiled as well. 

"You never like to shop with me," she said, pleasantly surprised. 

"Well, you know me...I'm mad old bastard! Let's go!" 

"Well, I barely have a minute. They just asked me about Mother's broach." 

"Please? I'll pout if we don't. Just one gift?" 

"What's gotten into you?" 

"Feh, it's this whole stupid thing with-" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "Pansy Parkinson. Dad hit me again!" 

"Did you make him angry or something?" she asked, without sounding surprised. 

"Angry? No, I swear! He just went mad and hit me for no reason. Hard... _Twice._" Narcissa patted his hand indulgently. 

"Poor thing. We'll have to get you something extra special." She sighed. "And I'm going to have a talk with your father. You two ought to have a better relationship. I had a lovely realationship with your granddad." 

"With Rynard?" he asked, looking utterly bewildered. 

"No, not that jackass. _My_ father. You deserve better from Lucius, your such a sweetheart. Pity, though. Really thought you'd turn out better looking. Taller, or smarter. But Mummy loves you the way you are." It was then that Narcissa noticed a lock of her son's hair out of place. She promtly began grooming it back with the others. 

"Mum, quit!" Draco whispered selfconsciously. He batted her hand back. 

"Hold still, you'll take my nails off..." 

"Come on, when are you going to start treating me like a man?" Narcissa raised her hand, showing him still holding on to it tightly. "Oh, nice," he said, letting her go. "I see. Have it your way, I won't hold your hand anymore, you can do without... Can I have hugs? Kisses?" 

"_Dearest_," she said, taking his face in her hands. "What kind of kisses does Mummy like when she's wearing her winter make-up?" 

"Air-kisses?" he asked, sounding disappointed. She answered by nearly kissing each side of his face, then whispered in his ear sternly. 

"_Don't leave the shop, and don't nick anything, understand? I won't have you embarressing me again. You already smell of Brandy_." She pulled away and straightened his cloak. "Soyez bon, bébé. Mère vous aime." 

"Aime vous, Mère." He stole a hug, then left her to her friends. When he turned into a nearby isle of the library, he found nearly the entire Slytherin Quidditch team were standing there, gloating. "Shut up," Draco snapped, fuming to see they were accompanied by Terence Higgs. "What are you doing in a library, Higgs? Found 'Picture Books for Poofters' yet?" 

"No," Higgs sniggered, "actually, we all came to see your mum." The others laughed as Draco started to seethe. "She's a dish, Malfoy, really. We've actually got a little drinking song going about her. A few sentiments written on the lavatory wall, too... Saw you around earlier, puttering about with some skinny bird. You know, girls usually like their men like they like their coffee. Hope- for your sake- she takes hers cold, weak, and bitter." Draco instinctually went for his wand, but realized he'd left it in his duster jacket. No wand, no Crabbe and Goyle. Just him, Higgs, and six of his newer, larger, and disgruntled team members. Normally, he wouldn't have started trouble in a situation like that, no matter who was saying what about his mother, but forty-eight hours of pent-up anger was strangling his brain, and the only thing he had that resembled sense had left him long ago. That, and he was a little drunk on Brandy. He swaggered up to Higgs, glaring up at him and wringing his fists at his sides. 

"Think that's funny, do you?" he asked, eye twitching. "Reckon you can sing those drinking songs with a pinched wind-pipe?" After a moment, Draco kicked Higgs in the shin, making him cry out and grab his leg. 

"You little maggot!" Higgs yelled, wincing and hopping up and down a bit. He went for his wand, but Draco grabbed the collar of his shirt and kneed him in the groin, letting him drop to the floor. The rest of the team just laughed as Draco continued trouncing on him, not expecting anything so bold from their anemic Seeker. Higgs' groaning drew attention from Marcus Flint, who came bounding down the isle from a parallel row, with Crabbe and Goyle in pursuit. 

"**Malfoy**," he roared. "Get off him! Off!" Draco wasn't minding. Flint turned to Crabbe and Goyle. "Would you get him out?" They looked confused, but seeing the threatening scowl on Flint's face, they just assumed do as they were told. 

"This is for my mother!" Draco shouted, dealing Higgs a swift kick to the gut. Crabbe and Goyle got on either side of him, taking his arms and pulling him off as he stomped on Higgs' legs. "Why don't you write a song about _that_, you bloody berk!" They hauled Draco off while the rest of the team applauded the violence. Flint assessed the damage, finding no blood. 

"You'll live," he muttered to Higgs, pulling him up by the elbow. 

"Florence floggin' Nightingale to the rescue," Higgs whimpered, holding his stomach. Judging from his expression, Flint didn't know who Florence Nightingale was. He went back to the next isle where Draco thrashed and swore at Crabbe and Goyle, who were still holding him a foot off the ground. 

"Let go of me, you stupid pillocks!" he cursed. "Have you both gone mad?" Flint slapped his hand over Draco's mouth and clamped a thumb over his pointed nose, quelling his noise and cutting off his air in the process. 

"What do you mean by attacking Higgs?" he snarled. Draco raised his brows." I don't care what he said, you should've walked away. Really, we've all wanted to smack him one some time or another, but you're on thin ice with the whole lot of us as it is." He let go of his mouth and Draco gasped deeply. "I'm the only one on the team with any loyalty to you, and that's because you pay me off." 

"You're a dying breed, you know that?" asked Draco. "The Bribing Kind." 

"Yeah, well, my uncle used to tell me that. But he also taught me how to beat a man to death without leaving a mark, so leave Higgs and the others alone. Did you know your breath smells like a distillery?" 

"Wait, back up- how can you beat some one to death without leaving a mark?" 

"Hm? Oh, well, first you take one of those big, dinner napkins. Fill it with oranges-." 

"Draco?" a girl's voice interrupted. The boys turned to see Pansy standing nearby, holding a large, green frosted cup cake and looking completely alienated. She realized she'd walked into the wrong conversation. 

"Down!" Draco ordered Crabbe and Goyle. They lighted him down and took a step back. 

"He made us," said Goyle, nodding to Flint. Draco smacked Goyle across the throat and pointed in his face, an intimidating sneer on his lips. 

"_Don't_," Draco growled. He turned back to Pansy and smiled, diving into his father's deceptive tone. "Hey, Pansy. So, how'd you find- how's your family?" 

"I followed you," she admitted, swooning. "And their sick, my family. I brought you this." She handed him the cup cake. He stared at it, half expecting to find a blonde hair stuck in the frosting. 

"Thanks, but...I'm not allowed to have sugar." 

"Oh. But, I see you eating sweets all the time." 

"Yeah, but, um, those are from home. We have them made special, so... But thanks for thinking of me." 

"Oh, no trouble. Do you want to go do something?" 

"Well, I have to talk to Marcus about something, and then I think my mum's gonna call me again. I mean, she's promised to take me shopping, and I get so little time to spend with her these days." 

"Yeah, it's been the same way with me and my parents. Well, I guess I'll see you at school." 

"You bet." She started to go. "Oh, hey, Pansy?" She turned back hopefully. 

"Yes?" 

"How do you take you're coffee?" 

"Real rich, with a bit of Brandy. Why?" 

"Never mind," he groaned, giving a dismissive gesture. "Happy New Year." She grinned and trotted away happily, running into her friends again. Draco turned back to the others, looking at the cake with disdain. 

"Can I have it?" asked Crabbe. "If you don't want it." 

"Only if you promise not to interrupt me the next time I'm pummling somebody. You see me lay out Higgs? Pretty good, eh?" Crabbe and Goyle nodded in admiration, but most likely, they where admiring the cup cake. Draco handed it to Goyle. "Now you two share... Blithering idiots." He looked at Flint accusingly. 

"What?" asked Flint torpidly. "You acted like an ass, _and_ you fought dirty, that doesn't get you a round of applause." 

"It actually did. And who doesn't fight dirty?" 

"I dunno,...blokes? Anyway, maybe the boys'll have a little more respect for you, now. They're fickle like that." He looked back at the last isle in fond appreciation and chortled to himself. "I'm starting to think we should've made you a Beater." Smiling, Draco turned from them and walked on through the store, feeling pretty good about himself, until he caught site of a little, blonde head bobbing around by the register. A young boy and a woman were checking out. 

"Oh, balls," he grumbled to himself, "Nereus is here." Nereus was plump and sunny, like a little angel, with large, blue eyes and choclate on his chin. Jamila- Nereus' governess- was a lovely little Egyptian woman, who was, as always, swathed in black beads and exotic silks. Draco pulled out his father's flask again, this time finishing it off. "Guess it's curtain-up." He composed himself and strode up to them, trying to seem pleasant. "Jamila!" he called out happily, as if she were the very person to brighten his day. She smiled graciously at him. 

"Master Malfoy," she said cheerily, speaking immaculate English. "Merry Christmas! ...What's that holiday phrase you used to say to me?" 

"Hmm?" 

"You know, the one your father taught you, when you were a little boy? The secret- you used to say it to me every year." 

"Oh, that one!" He grinned and straightened-up happily. "Acerbus Dominus si viveret, ad remum dareris!" 

"That's it, that's the one!" she laughed. "Whatever does it mean?" Draco went a bit pink. 

"Oh, it--it _really _looses some sentiment in English." 

"Please, you must write it down for me so that I can have it translated." 

"I don't think I know how to spell it. Anyway, I'm probably saying it wrong." 

"Oh, well. I was just taking Nereus to see his father, but we made such good time with the portkey, I thought we'd stop and get a few things, then take a carrige back. Maybe we can share a carrige?" Draco fought himself into a thrill. 

"That's the **best** idea! But you wouldn't want to crowd in with us." 

"_I do!_" giggled Nereus, singing his words and jumping around. "_We saw the coaches on the way in! Look at all the presents I got! CHRISTMAS MAKES ME SUPER-HAPPY, everybody sing! Oh, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY HOLIDAY..._" The recently purchased gifts were mostly children's playthings: puzzles; stuffed animals; lollies; anything you'd imagine to hold signifigance with a little child at Christmas. Draco gave them a passing glance, before staring off in resentment, folding his arms. 

"How nice for you," he muttered petulantly, as the boy went on singing. "Why didn't you arrive with your father?" He surpressed the smile that was brightening his face. "He didn't try leave you alone for the holiday, did he?" 

"Ormand went ahead to see his grandmother off," Jamila told him, paying off the cashier. "I hope he's been behaving himself." 

"Yes, we all know you've taken a 'special' interest in my uncle." 

"He seems to have taken interest in me, as well," she said, not noticing Draco's demeanor. 

"Really? That's wonderful. Wicked democratic of him." Jamila looked confused. "Such pretty hair," he went on, almost maliciously. "You're just lovely, like something out of Cinderella." 

"Um, thank you," she stuttered, not certain why his tone was distubing her, but noticing he was beginning to slur his words and teeter from side to side. "Are you quite alright?" she asked. 

"Just sleepy," he insisted. "Long day. Shall we go now? See about sharing that coach?" They eventually found Lucius and Narcissa. They were chatting nicely with with a past associate. Aurelius Bryce, a tall, round man in a tricorn and orange, layered clothes. 

"Now who can this be?" Bryce asked as Draco approached. 

"This is our son, Draco," said Narcissa. "Draco, this is Mr. Bryce. He was your father's superior when he was an intern." 

"This can't be your boy!" Bryce laughed. "Impossible! He must be at least a dozen years old, and I've never seen a hair's trace of him! How long can it have been?" 

"We haven't seen eachother since I was near eighteen," Lucius said. 

"Aw, I know, I couldn't believe that this giant is Lucius. God, it's been too long, I say. I wish you'd taken that active position in the Ministry, we'd have seen each other more often." 

"Well, Corbett wanted the position, and when he gets an idea in his head, it sticks like taffy." 

"Oh, yes, Bathory. Dark fellow, that one. All bad intentions- not our kind at all." Draco was gawking by now, not only from what Bryce was saying, but from the way his father was actually being pleasant and in good spirits. He felt as out of his depth as a pirate on a ferris wheel and wondered just how drunk he'd become. Byce leaned in and examined him with a sympathetic expression. "So, it's been put around you were attacked at school? Dredful piece of luck, that." 

"_What_?" Draco asked, looking at the man askance. 

"The the beast in Creatures class?" 

And then it dawned on him- the accident in Hagid's first lesson. "Oh! Yes, terrible luck." He rubbed his arm nervously, trying to exude a mixture of torment and bravery. "Gives me trouble since the weather turned, but I'm...taking it as it comes." 

"Quite a shame," Bryce tutted. "And you so young. That half-breed Hagrid,... bringing dangerous creatures into a class of third years? Irresponsible! He couldn't have not known it would end in tears. Afterall, you're not the first Malfoy to get mauled by a Hippogriff. Ohhh, not by a good length-." 

"I hate to say it," Lucius intterupted, "but I think it's time we were going. You have a merry Christmas, Aurelius. And give my love to Mora." 

"I will," Bryce said. "Merry Christmas, Lucius. And Narcissa. Ah, yes, and Draco. Take care of that arm, boy." 

As Lucius strode toward the door with his family, he saw Draco's slack-jawed expression. "Oh, shut up." 

They said their farewells to the Bathorys and went to the coach, their ride home peppered horrifically with Nereus' spontaneous bursting into Christmas carols. Narcissa was acting coldly, not wanting to be torn from her new, more interested friends, Lucius was enjoying a migraine ala Corbett, and Draco was getting motion sickness, ready to pass out. He was glad when the ride was over and carefully made his way back into the manor, trying not to stumble or slip on the ice. He shrugged off his cloak in the vestibule, and when he hit the staircase, he made a point to clutch the banister. He fortunaltely met Laddie halfway up the stairs. 

"You're still here," Draco sighed, hugging him and burying his head in Laddie's shoulder. "I had stupid, bastard night." 

"Uh, w-why is that?" he asked, pleasantly thrown off by the hug. "You say you had a..._bastard_ night? We talked about that kind of language." 

"God, not you, too? Everyone's yelled at me, or told me what; you can't blame me for getting a little brassed off by the end of the day." Draco looked up, his face crestfallen and paler than usual. "If I was a git, you'd tell me, right?" 

"That's a loaded question, isn't it? How did you think to ask?" 

"I've been hearing from everybody that I'm an twit, or waste, or a whelp. You do a couple tiny, awful things and your branded for life. Do you think I'm 'an ungrateful, little brat'?" 

"Well, one might make an argument-. Who said that to you?" 

"Core, who hasn't." 

"Don't you mind." 

"I _don't_ mind him, that's why he says it." 

"He?" 

"Can you please just help me up the stairs? A man could break his neck...ugly, bitch-face stairs." He hiccupped and teetered a bit, biting his lip. "We need to put in a...thingy." 

"Are you drunk?" 

"Just had a small Brandy. I told you, I had a bastard night." 

"Where did you get Brandy?" Laddie demanded, sounding scandalized. 

"It's **Christmas**!" Draco argued. "Dad gave me a flask." 

"Oh, god-. You didn't hurt anyone with your wand, did you?" 

"No, I...left it in my stupid coat..." Draco started to stumble back, a lazy, half-sleeping expression on his face. 

"Yes, well, perhaps it would be best if I put it away until you go back to school," he said, helping him up the stairs and back to his room, where other servants were making the bed and bringing up hot chocolate. He brought Draco to the sofa by the fireplace and put a blanket around his shoulders. "I don't know what you were thinking," Laddie reprimanded, "tossing back liquor like a bar fly." He handed Draco a large, glass mug of tepid cocoa. "I'd think you'd be drunk on a thimbleful, having gotten so sickly and thin." 

"Trick is to drink the best portion in one shot," he said proadly, then took a quick sip. "And what else could I do, he _gave_ me the Brandy." 

"You could've said no, thank you." 

"That would've been insulting." He sipped again and thought a moment, choking a bit. "He just would've taken offense, and you know we're not a 'no hit' family." 

"Yes, I'm well aware of the behavior some of your relatives engage in, but hardly think-." 

"**Hey!** _Hey_...you're talking about Dad, aren't you?" 

"I'd never dream to speak ill of an employer," he said sarcastically, taking a seat beside Draco and giving his spectacles a polish." 

"Good," Draco snorted, settling into Laddie's arm and resting his head on his shoulder. "Nobody talks like that about Dad. My daddy is the biggest, bestest, most **scariest** daddy in the world, and you'd all do good to remember that... Do what I said, 'cause I said it." 

"Yes, of course, how silly of me." 

"See, that's why I'm here, to catch you when you're silly." 

"For which I thank you," Laddie said, taking the cocoa as Draco let it tip. He set it on the endtable and slipped his glasses back on. "Can you get to bed on your own?" 

"Yeah, I'll find the bed, I just need a little minute." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Sure...as the face on my thumb." 

"I'll take that as negative." 

"No, go on! I've done this a thousand times!" 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Oh, one time," he answered carefully, suddenly sounding like an innocent choirboy. "When I had food poisoning, and not liquor,...because,..._I don't drink_." 

"Good answer." 

"Really? I thought the dismount was a bit shaky." Laddie scooped Draco up from the sofa and put him into bed, pulling off his shoes and then folding the blankets over him. He sat at the bedside. 

"Just once, you should think of turning in the proper way. You know, teeth brushed, night clothes, that sort of thing?" 

"Don't be such a prude... So, your _really_ staying?" 

"For the last time, yes, I'm _really_ staying." 

"But if you did go, you would visit, or write? Or would you just find some other rich family and be friends with them?" 

"Your not making sense, again. Lord, it was so much easier to deal with you when you were a little boy; then I knew what to expect, what to say. And when there was something wrong, you'd tell me. And we'd try to fix it. And it wasn't until you were ten that you could out run me... I can't believe you're almost fourteen. Although, I am starting to feel every year that I've known you- not that I'm an old man, but it's as if something's been..._aging_ me..." He looked down on Draco, who had fallen asleep from boredom by then, breathing deep and steadily, his slumber casting an unnatural illusion of child-like sweetness over him. "Well, that borders on misleading," Laddie whispered to himself, his usual gentle smile returning. After allowing himself a sentimental moment, he quietly showed himself out. 

Act IV:

_"Hold the Closure"_

Late in the morning of the 24th, Draco came storming down the main staircase, furious at having to dress formally on his holiday, already wearing suede, crimson dressrobes, black dress shirt and tuxedo pants, and a red, embroidered waistcoat. He threw a red ascot back at Laddie, who was following him down. 

"I **want** my wand back!" Draco snarled. 

"You'll get it back in a few, short hours," said Laddie. "Now please, put on the ascot." 

"It's mine, you can't keep it from me!" 

"Well, if you could behave yourself," he scolded, "at least as far as a normal boy is able, I wouldn't have to take such measures. Your father would agree. Why are you being so difficult?" 

"Difficult?" Draco scoffed, turning back to him. "You think _this_ is difficult? Jesus, gone three years, and you've already forgotten what 'me behaving' looks like! You're lucky I wore a shirt!" 

"Shhhh, they'll hear you. Everyone else is eating breakfast." 

"I thought Aunt Vienna was _drinking_ her breakfast." 

"Don't say that," he whispered, "and don't say 'Jesus'!" 

"Why can _you_ say Jesus? And if you like ascots so much, you can where it! I have to wear ties at school all year, I hate them, and I look stupid!" 

"You look like a gentleman." 

"I look like Lockhart, dressed for a cranberry's funeral! And anyway, why won't you play 'Dead and Alive' with me anymore?" 

"What? We can play that later-." 

"Well, I don't want to play with _you_ now." 

"You little twerp- put the damned ascot on!" 

"Language!" Draco tutted playfully. 

"You have once more to talk back to me, before I'll kill you with the stickpin!" 

"I stole the stickpin, so raspberries!" 

"Very funny, it's here in my pocket-." Laddie reached into his vest pocket and was dumb struck to find nothing there. He looked back at Draco, who smugly produced, not only the platinum stickpin, but Laddie's timepiece as well. "When did you take those?" 

"Good morning, Laddie, can I have a hug?" 

"I should've known," he berated himself. "Since when do you ever hug?" 

Draco held up the watch and appraised it curiously. "This is a bit nice for a man of your salary." 

"It was my father's, may I have it back?" 

"_What do you say?_" 

"You're not too young for me to beat the stuffing-." 

"Close enough." He tossed the watch to him and took the ascot back. "But we're playing cards later," he insisted, slipping the ascot around his neck and tying it. "Cards and darts. Maybe I'll make you hold the dartboard, see who's laughing then... Pensez que vous pouvez menacer de me frapper et je l'oublierai juste?" 

"What?" 

"Don't you hit me! I'm a defenseless child, and if you hit me, you'll go straight to hell!" 

"Shhhh! Please, just _try_ to be good for one day. Make a game of it. Didn't I help you with your hangover? Can't you do this one thing for me?" 

"I don't know," he said to himself, pinning the ascot and tucking it into his waistcoat. "I think I feel a shout coming on..." 

"I will **pay** you to behave!" 

"Laddie, you know I don't need money! ...How much?" 

"Depends on how quiet you are." 

"Okay," he whispered. He made his way quietly to the dining hall, passing his father halfway. Lucius- his dress clothes almost indistinguishable froim his usual black reinment- stopped when he saw his son. 

"Is it my imagination," Lucius wondered aloud, "or is there something off about you this morning?" 

"I'm being good," he said, with a proad grin. 

"Don't you think you're a bit out of your depth, son?" Draco started to huff, but then put his chin up, trying for icy indifference. 

"You not supposed to talk to me like that anymore. Mum says we should have a better relationship." 

"And how are we ever to _have_ that better relationship with you frisking about in my way all the time?" After a moment, a horridly amused expression crept to Lucius face. 

"Merry Christmas, Father," Draco said quietly, a bit of emotion creeping into his voice. 

"Merry Christmas yourself. Be sure to give the cranberry's widow my condolences." Remaining deathly still, Lucius followed with his eyes as Draco continued on to the dining hall- which was now full of family- and took an empty seat at the table, beside his mother, who was dressed up nicely in hunter green. 

"Oh, good," she marked at seeing him, "we don't clash. Where's you're father gone, dear?" 

"He's off being a bastard someplace. Looks as though we've got a better turn out this morning. Merry Christmas, Mum." 

"Merry Christmas... What's different about you?" 

"I'm behaving myself." 

"No, you're wearing an ascot-. You're behaving yourself? Good for you." She air-kissed in his direction and went back to her red wine, drinking carefully, so as not to smudge her gloss. 

"Ooh, we're having wine with breakfast now?" 

"Don't _you_ sound excited? I knew our Lucius has been pushing you off the wagon again. Stupid prat; he's gonna get it." 

"He's leading me down the path, Mum." 

"I know it. It's his twisted sense of fun. He fed you a nail for sport, once." 

"Well, that was before I had teeth in, I don't think he'd try it now." 

"You were such a cute baby," she gushed, dipping a wheat crisp in her pea soup. "Until your father taught you to pull on my earings. He's a prat, is what he is." She started nibbling on her cracker while Draco started into his soup and looking around the room to see if the Bathorys had come for breakfast. He overheard the end of a conversation. 

"So, I said to her," Reynard told Ormand, "if you want to be a Christian, you can stand on your head and be a Christian, but I'm not going to any bloody baptisim!" 

"God, you didn't really?" Ormand chuckled, completely enthralled. "You right bastard; what did she say?" 

"She didn't say anything, she was choking on a cake." Ormand started laughing so hard, he nearly fell out of his chair. 

"Don't let's be silly!" Megaera snapped at them. "This is a time of celebration, so sit still and be quiet!" They straightened up, still wearing their boyish smiles. 

"Sorry, Grams," Ormand said quickly. 

"Reynard, where's that little tart of yours?" Megaera asked. 

"Cora's not a tart, mother," Reynard groaned. 

"Well, she certainly taught you to talk back to your mother. You didn't talk back to me before... Because I'd beat you when you did- where is she?" 

"I think she went upstairs to see the boy. To give him a present, or something." 

"What boy?" 

"Your great-grandson." 

"Nereus? Is he here, oh, I love that boy." 

"No, Draco." 

"Hmm? Who?" Fed up, Reynard pointed across the table at Draco, who, when he realized people were talking about him, looked as though he expected to be shot if he moved. "Oh, punch bowl! ...Well, he's here, your stupid wife's lost him." 

"Cora's looking for me?" Draco asked, swallowing his soup. "Should I go find her?" 

"Go on," Reynard said. "She's been wanting to see you." Draco- who hadn't been paying attention after "a present, or something"- pulled out of his chair, gave his mother an air-kiss, and went straight for the main staircase, where Laddie was letting in the Bathorys. 

"Son!" Corbett called out to Draco. "Merry Christmas! What did you get me?" Draco simply looked at him, starting to sneer again. "Just kidding!" He pulled Keira into a cuddle and they tangoed past Draco toward the dining room, leaving him with Laddie and Mallory. 

"Merry Christmas," Draco said to Mallory. Her face had already glazed over, staring at Laddie the dreamy way she stared at the portait of Randolph back in the shop. Draco realized what was happening and glared at Laddie, who was keeping a keen watch on them. "What?" Draco asked him fractiously. "Caught in a butler trap?" 

"Highly amusing," Laddie whispered sarcastically. "I'm bound to laugh any second. Your father asked me to mind you around the Bathorys, if I possibly could." 

"I'm just entertaining the company, where's the harm in that? And why isn't...what's-her-face answering the door?" 

"Poor Fulla is in the middle of a nervous breakdown. She's the second downstairs maid your family's driven over the edge this quarter, and Warren tells me you've lost five other servants to the asylum in the last three years." 

"Warren?" 

"The cook." 

"Oh. Well, that's probably a coincidence." Laddie drew a breath to correct him, but before he could, two women descended the staircase. Jamila and Cora, chatting with one another. Cora was a tall, willowy lady, with short, sandy blonde hair, a rosy complexion, and slate blue eyes, her build and coloring making her look almost like a blood relative. She practically floated down the steps, her lavender brocade cloak adding to the placative aura about her. 

"Laddie, Draco!" she said, with a grand smile and a breathy voice, as if she were on the threshold of some ultimate happiness. "Merry Christmas!" 

"Merry Christmas, Nana Cora," Draco said, trying to work up enthusiasm. He reminded himself that she might have a gift. "Have you met Mallory?" 

"I don't think so. Hello, Mallory." By now, Mallory wasn't paying mind to much of anything, but practically hanging on Laddie's arm and scaring the daylights out of him. 

"So, you wanted to see me?" Draco started again. 

"Well, yes, I haven't seen you the entire time I've been here." As they were chatting, Lucius was letting himself be taken back down the stairs by Nereus, who was talking his ear off. 

"...And he died for our sins," Nereus said in summation. "And eveyone can come together in peace and harmony, and _that's_ the Miracle of Christmas." 

"Yes," Lucius sighed, as if he had a splitting headache, "That's the Miracle. The blinding, outright, baldfaced Miracle of Christmas..." He looked down at everyone. "What a jolly tinderbox this is. Mallory, doesn't your father want you?" Mallory shook her head and nuzzled Laddie's arm. "Oh. Well, happy...something everyone." 

"Merry Christmas," Cora and Jamila both said to everyone in unison. Lucius gave Laddie a certain look, which he picked up on the meaning of quickly. He pulled Mallory off and sent her over to the others, then brought Draco to the music room while Lucius took eveyone to the dining hall. 

"Am I in trouble?" Draco asked angrily. "I was being good, and if you try to pin anything on me, I'll to make a scene, and you can bank on that!" 

"No," Laddie whispered. "I thought you'd like to play 'Dead and Alive' now." 

"Now? Mallory just got back, and I have to see Cora about that whatever it is." 

"Well, if you're not up to it-." As if on cue, Draco clutched at his heart and began gasping and "dying" dramatically. After a quite a bit of theatrics, he fell back on a harpsichord, somehow managing to play the taps before sliding to the floor in a little pile. Gathering him up from the ground, Laddie bore Draco over his shoulder and promptly took him back up to his room. Once there, he dumped Draco on the couch and started pretending to bring him back to life with powerful, VooDoo hypnosis. (Despite his haste, Laddie took a rather large amount of satisfaction in his own dramatic performance.) After a gasp of rebirth, Draco jumped to his feet and began to bow and except applause from the imaginary audeince. 

"Thank you, thank you, I live for your approval! And now, a small hand for my lovely assistant!" He staightened up again, beeming at Laddie. "Who's a rusty, old begger now?" 

"What? Never mind. I think you should be more cautious at re-entering the dining room. There's a lot of...potential there." 

"...Oh. So that's why you took me out." 

"I thought it would be easier this way. Do you think you could keep your temper and not say anything too horrific?" 

"Probably not," Draco muttered, trying for sympathy again. "You know how horrific I can be." 

"Don't try me; I'm guilt-proof." 

"Mr. Common Decency... I should've guessed that for all your '_compassion_' and '_sympathy_' you wouldn't have the stones to tell me straight that you couldn't stand to be around me anymore. I'm just your employer's heir apparent, is that it? And if it doesn't bother my own family that I'm lonely and antagonized, what should it mean to you? No wonder it was so easy for you to leave me here, alone...with _them_..." Laddie sighed angrily and sat on the sofa, something of the thousand-yard stare in his eyes. 

"You're wand is under the bureau," he said, sounding beaten down. Draco snapped his fingers at the ironic simplicity, and happily made off to reclaim his property. 

--_"One has to requite good and ill: but why to precisely the person who did us good or ill?" _

WRITTEN: 12-22-03  



End file.
